


Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

by DSBJellyDonuts



Series: The Futures [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: (But it's not necessarily happy either), (It's not as dark as it sounds), (The Futures are kinda angsty...), Dystopia, Pretty much everybody is dead, just fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 01:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17214656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSBJellyDonuts/pseuds/DSBJellyDonuts
Summary: Future Lucy and Future Wyatt talk - or don't - after arriving back to 2023.





	Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a fascination with The Futures. A whole three minutes onscreen was not enough to quench my curiosity. I started thinking about what would await them when they returned to their own timeline, and... this happened. I'm... sorry?
> 
> (If you share my fascination, I have at least one more fic planned with them... significantly lighter than this one.)
> 
> Title from Kierkegaard, "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." Seemed perfect for the less-than-functional future version of our favorites. (And the semi-functional present-day version, too, TBH.)

The knock on the door came late into the evening.  Lucy jumped; in the two and a half years since they'd moved into their new quarters, she wasn't sure he'd ever appeared at her door.

“Lucy?”

She looked up at him, stoic, curious - not saying a word.  They'd never been good at words.

“I just wanted to make sure you were - okay.”  He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and she couldn't blame him.  They'd been a long few days, the visits to Flynn, herself at the outset, themselves just after losing Rufus - but they didn't really have a choice.  Even if tweaking the timeline meant her own death.  And she knew he knew that, so no matter what had gone between them over the last five years, she got that he'd want to be sure she hadn't pushed herself too far.

After all, even as strained as their relationship was, they still only had each other.

“I'm not going insane, if that's what you're asking.  The headache stopped a little while after we got back.”

He nodded - the “good” not spoken - and she expected him to turn to go back down the hall, to his own sparsely furnished room.  After Rittenhouse had destroyed the bunker, well - there hadn't been much left to furnish _with_.  And little point in replacing, when it would likely all just get blown to smithereens again.

She probably shouldn't have been surprised when he hesitated.  She couldn't have been alone in looking around that place, seeing it not as it stood in 2018 but as they last had: the walls blown out, their friends slain - driving them deeper underground, the two of them and that damned Lifeboat the only remaining survivors of this war against Rittenhouse.  It had only been a few weeks since Flynn had broken it off - though she didn't love him, she'd never wanted to see him dead, eyes rolled back in a pool of blood on the ground.  Or Mason, or Jiya - her eyes welled up at the thought of Jiya, who had been ready to sacrifice so much to save them from all of this, only to end up—

It had been good to see her alive and spunky.  Lucy had no doubt that she'd be crawling all over the upgraded Lifeboat, her excitement over its updates hopefully leaking a crack of sunshine into the dark place where Rufus’ death lay.

And Denise, her load so much lighter, not blaming herself for the fall of the bunker - as if she could have done anything from her own home anyways.

Even amidst all of the other assaults to her emotions, though, she couldn't help but focus on the past versions of herself and Wyatt.  Even after so much loss, there was still some innocence left, some hope, some humanity - and _that_ Lucy had the option to choose love over hurt and bitterness.  She hoped she would, that the journal could give them that.  As for herself, well, she'd made her choices. She only hoped their past selves could learn from them.

She glanced back at the door to find him still lingering, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't quite get out.  Her patience was waning - not that she had much to begin with, especially when it came to him.  “Just spit it out already.”

He didn't even look stricken - she could only imagine the difference in reaction if today’s Lucy had ever spoken to her Wyatt like that.  But her words spurred him into action.  “I, uh,” he started, scratching at his beard, that damned beard that she swore he kept only because she hated it so much.  “I don't think I ever said I was sorry for the whole Jessica thing.”

She tried to hide her surprise.  “You didn't.”

“Well, I am.  Sorry.  About… everything.”  He paused as she nodded, determined not to react, determined not to scream at him, not to ask why it had taken five years, why he hadn't said it back when it could have made a difference - _would_ have made a difference.  Instead she kept her eyes fixed on her boots, nodding slowly.  He didn't need the words anyways.  She was sure he knew.  Guilt was one thing he was good at.

After a minute, she looked up at him, her carefully practiced disdain wavering despite her best efforts.  “You really think they can get Rufus back?”

He paused - considering his words carefully.  “I think they can do anything… if they do it together.”  He offered her the barest hint of a smile, maybe even a smirk - the closest thing she’d seen out of him that could almost be considered _affection_ in over two years.

She almost returned it, the corners of her mouth flicking up the tiniest bit - a monumental amount, considering everything.  “We did tell them to.”  A pause and then, “I hope they listen.”

He snorted.  “When do they listen to anyone.”

“They used to listen to each other.”  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she regretted them almost immediately.  She looked back down at her boots and continued, trying to recover.  “Hopefully they figure it out anyways.”

When had they stopped that - doing things _together_?  They were together all the damn time, her brain shot back reflexively, the curse of her life that the only living person she had contact with was the one she'd wanted to have with her forever and always so long ago.  But so too was their teamwork on missions - reflexive, automatic - with no real relationship, not even as friends or comrades.  

It hadn't been Flynn that had torched it, although her choices (and Wyatt’s jealousy) hadn't helped in that regard.  That relationship had been as much about hurting him as it had been about exploring anything that might exist between her and Flynn.  Still, they'd maintained the barest semblance of cordiality through that, all the way up through the explosion and the move to the barracks - and the terror-fueled nights that had followed.  Shortly thereafter, though, she'd shut down completely.  She'd lost everything else, time and again, and the reality of the situation was that he was the only thing she had left.  She'd already lost him, mostly; it was only a matter of time before he was gone completely.  Might as well be on her own terms.

But looking at him now, still lingering in the doorway, like he knew he should go, like he knew he was in her space, knew it was a space where he was no longer welcome -

She reached out with her foot, kicked the chair around to face her.  “If you're going to insist on sticking around, you might as well sit.”

His eyes lit up - he tried to hide it, to school his face, but she'd known him far too long, far too well, to buy his indifference.

As he walked over, his footsteps heavy, she asked, “Do you think they found what they needed in the journal?”

“I hope so,” he said, sinking stiffly onto the offered chair.  “God, I hope so.”

They'd gone to save their past selves, save them from the dark and bitter reality she’d come to know so well.  But sitting there watching him — stiff and uncomfortable in a space that was stuck somewhere between visiting a hostile planet and coming home — she wondered if maybe, just maybe, they'd taken the first step towards saving themselves.

Maybe there was still hope after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Still, if we're talking 2023, I like Palo Alto better.


End file.
